


Love Like You'll Never Be Hurt

by fw_feathers (mia826)



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, M/M, Pining, SO MUCH FLUFF, but not really, he's nicer than usual, like wtf are you doing here this is a smut tag, lothar is a bully, mentions of rape - but only that it happens. not personally experienced by characters, my goal is to STUFF IT WITH FLUFF, the most romantic teeth rotting courtship you'll ever see, there's courting, this is so fluffy the abo genre would look upon me with shame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7739644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia826/pseuds/fw_feathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is more than just his instincts. He knows this as fact. He’s been with a few Omega lovers in his time, some he courted and others who requested him. None have pulled at him like Khadgar has. None have given him the desire to pepper them with kisses til they laugh, to look into their eyes and tell them how beautiful they are, how wondrous, how lucky Lothar is to have them.</p><p>None of them have been Khadgar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Storm's ABO](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/220732) by stormwrynnedkeep. 



> a direct continuation of [Storm's abo fic](http://stormwrynnedkeep.tumblr.com/post/147992544151/abo-khadgar-is-a-late-bloomer-and-hasnt), ft. Teeth Rotting Amounts of Fluff and Suspiciously Minimal Amount of Actual Sex. If you love pining and courting, you'll love this.
> 
> Seriously, read Storm's part first, and while you're at it, read her other stuff too. They're _awesome._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm gonna write ALL the fluff!  
> Also me: writes 90% world building, 5% narration and 5% Lothar being A Jerk With A Heart of Gold

* * *

_“You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,_  
_Love like you'll never be hurt,_  
_Sing like there's nobody listening,_  
_And live like it's heaven on earth.”_  
_― William W. Purkey_  


* * *

 

It’s been a week since Lothar helped Khadgar through his first heat. Being his first, it wasn’t as intense as a fully matured heat could be, and only lasted well into the next day. Whatever sleep either of them was able to get was fitful. It didn’t matter that Lothar had to spend the night in a chair; he doubted he would have gotten any sleep on the world’s fluffiest bed if there was a maturing Omega in heat in the room.

Lothar had kept himself out of touching distance, and, for lack of anything better to do, had talked Khadgar through the night with what he knew of A/B/O physiology. It should have been hilarious how a subject that would discomfit others soothed an academic like Khadgar through his baby heat. It satisfied Lothar’s Alpha instincts at least, so in the end it was good for them both.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay long the next day. He was only able to reassure himself that Khadgar’s heat was over before he had to leave for a meeting. One out of many, many others.

The orcs have been quiet so far, after the heavy blow that had been dealt to them, but that didn’t mean Lothar’s duties were over. While Lothar can blame his antsy behavior the past few days over the instinctual desire to watch over Khadgar, he knows the need to see him well is personal. So after a week of endless meetings, he makes his excuses and slips away to the library.

Sure enough, Khadgar is there, surrounded by piles of books and loose papers, chewing on his thumbnail as he reads. Now that Lothar knows him as an Omega, the usual mess around him is looking even more and more nest-like. Lothar brushes off the growl building in his chest like an irritating fly.

Khadgar’s nose twitches; he sneezes. His head snaps up, wide eyes looking at Lothar with his mouth slightly agape. Lothar can’t help the little smirk on his lips at the sight. It used to be that Lothar could step right up to the edge of Khadgar’s circle of books and the mage wouldn’t even blink.

“A little sensitive, are we?” he says casually, enjoying the rush of color that floods Khadgar’s face at his words.

“I- what- _no-_ ” Lothar lets the mage stutter a little more before he raises his eyebrow and taps the side of his nose. His smirk widens as Khadgar clamps his mouth shut, embarrassment turning into indignation.

Khadgar takes a deep breath, presumably to calm himself. His face twists, showing how much he regrets the decision. “Yes,” he admits through gritted teeth. “Which is why I’m _here_ , away from everybody. What are _you_ doing here, Lothar?” His accusing look is undermined by how pathetic his subject change is.

Amused, Lothar leans against the closest bookshelf, looking down at the mage seated on the floor. “Hiding from the world won’t solve your problem, spell-chucker,” he says, ignoring Khadgar’s question. “You won’t learn how to parse through scents by burying your nose in a book.”

Khadgar’s frown turns mulish, his lower lip jutting out in defiance.

“Besides,” Lothar adds, enjoying this more than he should be, “news travels fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if you start receiving courting marks soon.”

The color leaves Khadgar’s face fast enough to worry Lothar. “C- _courting_ marks?” he squeaks.

Lothar’s laughter dies on his lips at Khadgar’s horrified expression. He lowers himself to the ground, the better to look Khadgar in the eye. “You don’t know about courting marks?”

Khadgar shakes his head, sending black strands flip-flopping every which way. Lothar frowns, rubbing a hand over his beard as he thinks. “How did they treat Omegas in Dalaran?” he asks.

Khadgar bites his lip, his thumb worrying over what’s left sticking out. “They’re- _we’re_ -” he corrects himself, still with the slightest note of surprise in his voice, “-expected to control it. It’s not… something people discussed.”

“In other words, they pushed it under a rug and pretended it didn’t exist,” Lothar says. Khadgar’s eyes flicker to Lothar’s fingers, where they drum into his knee. Realizing what he’s doing, Lothar stills them. Looks like even he has to get used to the mage becoming more sensitive to his moods.

Khadgar’s conflicted expression is enough to answer his question.

“Did they even teach you about what happens?” Lothar can’t keep his incredulity from creeping into his voice.

“We had books,” is Khadgar’s retort, shoulders creeping towards his ears.

Lothar raises an eyebrow. He reaches towards one of Khadgar’s book piles and holds up one of the smaller ones. On the cover is a bulky Alpha, cradling a smaller (and ridiculously positioned) Omega in his arms. Superimposed on them both are the words, _To Tie The Knot,_ the elegant script swirling over the Omega’s bare back _._ “Better than this one, I hope.”

This time the color reaches Khadgar’s ears. He scrambles to his knees, crawling to Lothar and snatching the book out of his hand. “Yes!” he snaps, chucking the book into a corner away from Lothar.

Lothar doesn’t even blink. He _does_ grin though. “Let me guess: How To Care For Your Omega, by A. Runeweaver?”

Khadgar looks at him in surprise. _That_ caught him off-guard. “How did you-”

“That book is so backwards if it went any further it’d meet the Titans,” Lothar says flatly, smile falling away. “We banned it from Stormwind years ago.” Khadgar just stares at him, mouth open in a pink ‘o’ that shouldn’t be so tantalizing. Lothar sighs and rubs his forehead.

"Enjoying your studies?" Lothar nods at the numerous books scattered around Khadgar. From the looks of it, Khadgar had grabbed the library’s entire collection of Alpha-Omega references – including, to Lothar’s extreme amusement, the few examples of trashy romance novels someone had hidden on the shelves. _To Tie The Knot_ doesn’t even look like the worst of them.

"Yes, actually." Khadgar’s tone starts out confused at the sudden subject change, but shifts to earnestness and a bit of awe soon enough. All it takes to talk of books to get Khadgar going. The fact that he knows that makes Lothar feel smug. "You have a very comprehensive collection. It surprised me," he admitted. "Half of these I’ve never even seen in Dalaran."

"That’s good. Medivh, Llane, and I scoured every inch of the realm for those, and funded the research for the rest." Lothar finally lets his smug grin loose as Khadgar looks at him with wide eyes. "There’s a reason Stormwind is the safest place for Omegas, you know."

It had started, in fact, with Lothar and Taria’s mother. Lothar’s smile softens as he remembers those nights by the fireplace, listening avidly with Taria to their mother’s stories. An Omega and a lady from a small noble family, she had suffered both ridicule and abuse in her youth. When both her children had presented as Alphas, she had taken them aside and told them exactly what had happened to her and how she felt about it, both past and present. Then she had made them promise to treat every Omega they met with respect, and to treat their instincts as just that - instincts. Things that could be controlled. It had stayed with Lothar for the rest of his life.

But what had truly triggered the change in Stormwind was when his dearest friend Medivh presented as an Omega - and his first reaction was to look at Lothar with fear in his eyes.

Lothar had run from the room, rather than face that fear. The thought that his friend had even entertained the _idea_ that Lothar would harm him _hurt._ But he also knew that there was a reason for Medivh’s fear. And that angered him more.

It didn’t take long for Taria and Llane to knock their heads together and get Lothar and Medivh to reconcile - over a nonexistent fight, Lothar always liked to add. That was when the four greatest minds of Stormwind (Llane’s words) put their heads together and planned out the revolutionization of Alpha-Omega dynamics in the kingdom.

They pretty much just planned out a trend for Taria and Lothar to start, but it stuck. And it was to everyone’s benefit in the end. The Alphas enjoyed the thrill of courting the Omegas and proving themselves against the other Alphas. Meanwhile, the Omegas were better protected and better valued all around. It also smoothed the way for Llane to start laying down the laws for the protection of Omegas, later in his reign.

Lothar isn’t willing to share, not yet. The memories are precious still. But from the look on Khadgar’s face, the smart kid must have figured out at least half of it already. "That’s amazing," Khadgar says, his voice soft. There’s a new level of wonder and respect in his eyes, which makes Lothar want to preen.

Instead, he focuses back on the subject at hand. “Here in Stormwind, Omegas are respected. Valued, even. It is the Omega who has a say on who they will share their heats with, and it is also their choice if they would rather spend it alone.”

“That’s what the courting marks are for,” Khadgar breathes.

“That’s right.” Lothar leans back, trying to think of anything else he’d missed. It’s better than staring at Khadgar’s wide eyes and open-mouthed smile and agonizing over whether he wants to kiss it off him or make it bigger. "Do you know what to expect for your upcoming heats?"

Khadgar nods. This time his answers are confident, with only the slightest hint of pink left in his cheeks. "A small heat next month, then another in the next two months, and the first full heat three months after, with intermittent bouts of mild fever and distraction in-between," he recites. He gestures with his right hand for every point. "Afterwards, the heats will be regular, every three months, give or take."

Lothar gives him a look of approval. "Good." The small praise makes Khadgar light up, then redden, then frown, as he struggles with his instincts. Lothar allows himself a smile but bites back the teasing comments already forming in his mind. He wants to tease Khadgar, not give him a complex.

That said, he reins in the desire to pepper him with more questions, and the desire after _that_ to offer to check in on him during his next heat. He remembers the vulnerable expression on Khadgar’s face, the words coming out of his plump, rosy lips, saying, _“I want-”_

He shakes his head. The room is getting hot, the ample space between them suddenly much too small. Khadgar’s eyes are wide and focused on his face, his nostrils flaring at the pheromones drifting between them.

Lothar does _not_ scramble to his feet. He rises with dignity, brushing off invisible dust from his trousers. Omegas are uncontrollable walking clouds of pheromones during their first few weeks presenting. That’s all. There is _nothing_ in Khadgar’s eyes that makes Lothar’s heart beat faster, like a fresh recruit laying eyes on his first ladylove. “If you have any more questions, just come and find me. But I think you’ll do just fine with your little nest there,” he says, gesturing at the books around the mage.

Khadgar’s face colors again. Belatedly, Lothar realizes his unfortunate wording and curses himself in the safety of his mind. “I’ll see you around, spell-chucker.” He turns to leave, before he can say something even more foolish.

“Lothar!”

Nothing in the world could have made Lothar refuse that call at the moment. He turns, raising an eyebrow at the mage. Khadgar opens his mouth, ready to speak – then closes it, shaking his head. “Never mind.” He ducks his head, hiding any hint of what he could be thinking.

Lothar flees.

Outside the library, Lothar takes a moment to run his hand through his hair and just breathe. The air feels cooler away from Khadgar, but it also feels emptier.

If Khadgar says the word, Lothar would be there for him in a heartbeat. He wants nothing more than to take the mage into his arms, press him down into the sheets and show him the sweet, blazing sensation of an Alpha and Omega moving together. He would take such good care of his mage, heap praises onto every bit of skin he can reach, shower him with kisses until he’s begging and whimpering for Lothar to enter him. Khadgar’s every whim would be his order. He would start slow, letting Khadgar adjust, let him taste the joy of taking their time, savoring each jolt of pleasure, until Khadgar would growl and beg and tell him to _move, faster,_ and-

With a growl, Lothar starts walking, away from the crowds and towards the more secluded areas of Stormwind. The cool breeze and the mere act of moving settle him slightly, but the desire, the _yearning_ is still there.

This is more than just his instincts. He knows this as fact. He’s been with a few Omega lovers in his time, some he courted and others who requested him. None have pulled at him like Khadgar has. None have given him the desire to pepper them with kisses til they laugh, to look into their eyes and tell them how beautiful they are, how wondrous, how lucky Lothar is to have them.

None of them had been Khadgar.

But Khadgar is young. He still has so much life ahead of him, to explore his own needs and desires and experiment with what different lovers can give him. Lothar is not the type to share. He is an old man with so little space left in his cracked and hardened heart. Khadgar doesn’t deserve to be tied down like that, not so early, and not by someone who will be lucky to be alive when Khadgar reaches forty.

Lothar holds on to the windowsill until his knuckles turn white and his fingers ache. No. Let the other Alphas court Khadgar. The first heat is a great honor, especially if the Omega in question is the Mage of Stormwind. And Khadgar is desirable enough without his title. There will be plenty of young, eligible Alphas vying for his attention. Lothar will not do anything but support the mage and help him choose which of them he desires. And if that Alpha isn’t Lothar, then so be it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a break from writing fantasy au lmao. And when I checked the file with this fic, I realized that what I had was enough to make a whole chapter. So here you go, an update. Yay!
> 
> unbeta'd so the weird new form is all on me lmao

It takes three more days before the first courting mark arrives at Khadgar’s doorstep. That’s one week and three days since Khadgar first presented. Honestly, Lothar is surprised it took this long. Either the Stormwind grapevine is getting rusty, or Taria made a discrete effort to slow it down. Khadgar’s habit of staying in the library and avoiding most forms of human contact probably helped.

Lothar has the fortune of finding out when Khadgar crashes through his door at the crack of dawn. It’s a good thing it’s the door to his office, and not his actual quarters. At least this way, people would think the kingdom is doomed, instead of gossiping about what an Omega would want from an Alpha in the middle of the night.

It’s been a long day. Lothar had two meetings in a row with stuffy-nosed nobles (why _else_ would they sniff that much) and a fight with a fresh Alpha recruit that thought she could swagger her way through the day’s training. After that, he had to check the armory and weapons supply, sit through the blacksmith weeping about his poor, bedridden daughter (while asking for a raise), then come back to the castle to a pile of paperwork that needed to be sealed and signed. That’s his excuse for his behavior when Khadgar comes crashing in. Even Lothar doesn’t appreciate being woken up at an ungodly hour after an ungodly day with the unexpected scent of another Alpha in his territory.

The snarl is instinctive. Khadgar jerks back, wide-eyed, clutching a small package to his chest. Lothar’s eyes snap to the little he can see of the box, nostrils flaring. He likes the idea of the scent mixing with Khadgar’s even less than having it around. A growl starts building in the back of his throat. But the sharp scent of fearful Omega and the look on Khadgar’s face is enough to wake him fully, so he manages to reel it in.

“I’m sorry,” Khadgar blurts, before he can say anything. “I forgot; I didn’t think; I’ll just go-”

Lothar grabs him by the collar before he can run off. It’s the same robes he’d seen him wearing when he passed him in the hallway yesterday. Did Khadgar sleep in them?

“Let me guess,” Lothar drawls, not feeling all that forgiving still. “You got your first courting mark, you panicked, and so you ran to me.” _Again._ That soothes his ruffled feathers a little.

He can see the color bleeding into Khadgar’s ears. “If you’re busy-”

“Nope.” There’s still a little irritation left behind, but it’s quickly making room for amusement. “Show me.”

Regret and reluctance dripping from every pore, Khadgar follows him inside, shutting the door behind him. It’s easy enough to guess he did it out of habit, but now the room feels a hundred times more suffocating when Lothar never had a problem before. Lothar slams down on his instincts and focuses on the faint scent from the package instead. Better that than focusing on _Khadgar’s._

Khadgar hands him the package. It’s not that big; just enough to fit in the palm of the mage’s hand. Inside is a simple white handkerchief, folded to fit the shallow box. On top rests a small medallion, with a rising eagle engraved onto it.

“Classy,” Lothar says, his voice dry. He taps the edge of the box, careful not to touch the cloth. “That’s the crest of House Furner. Probably from their son, Mareth.” He hands back the box. “It’s usually the noble lines who do something like this. They’re using their name and their… heritage, to get your attention. That’s what the crest and scent is for.” He can’t help the little twist to his lips at the thought. Nobles like to pretend they’re subtle.

“What do I do with it?” Khadgar hisses, looking panicked just at the word “nobles”.

Lothar shrugs. “Keep it. Or if you don’t like it, put it back where you found it. The maids will send it back in the evening.”

“I won’t… offend them or anything. Will I?” Khadgar looks dubious. Maybe he _has_ been reading too much trashy novels. Lothar knows a particularly popular one involved two noble families at war.

“No. The choice is yours. They can sniff and pout and basically throw a temper tantrum like a child, but they can’t do anything to you,” Lothar assures him. “Besides,” he adds, “This is mostly just a way to show their interest. You’ll be getting other gifts from them soon.”

“ _Other_ gifts?” Khadgar looks so alarmed it makes Lothar’s lips twitch.

“Did you really think that courting would be that simple?” He grins at Khadgar, crossing his arms.

“I was hoping it would be,” the mage grumbles, putting the lid back on the box. On one hand, Lothar is relieved, because he won’t have to smell _Alpha Trying To Court Khadgar de parfum._ On the other hand, now all he has left to smell is _Khadgar._ Said mage groans as he runs a hand over his face. “Why me? I have enough to worry about, what with the baby heats-” He wrinkles his nose at the term. Lothar wants to laugh. “-and, you know, _the fate of all Azeroth_ hanging over my head.”

That sobers Lothar. He lets himself ruffle Khadgar’s hair with his hand. Khadgar looks up at him, wide-eyed. “One day at a time, Khadgar,” he says gently. “The world won’t fall because you spared a moment to worry over a handkerchief.”

Khadgar’s expression becomes one of pure gratitude, his eyes glittering in the light. Lothar is surprised to see him so affected by this. It’s easy to forget that not all kingdoms are like Stormwind, that not all outsiders treat Omegas the same way. Regretting his flippant attitude even more, he slips his hand to Khadgar’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“The choice is yours,” he repeats. “You can accept every gift you receive and still pick none of those Alphas as your partner for your heat. You can favor one then change your mind to another. No one can touch you for those choices under Stormwind law. And,” his traitorous mouth adds, “if you need me, I’ll be here.”

Light, Lothar would curse himself to hell and back for that, but it’s worth the brilliant smile Khadgar gives him for it. “Thank you,” Khadgar says.

Lothar reaches over to smack him on the back, because it’s either that or blush like a smitten teenager. And he is _not_ a teenager. “You’re welcome,” he says gruffly. “Now get out and get some sleep, before people start wondering what crisis we have next with you in my office at this hour.”

Khadgar’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Um. Right. Good night, Lothar.” A pause. Together, they glance out the window, where the sky is starting to lighten. Khadgar grimaces. “Or. Well, good morning.”

Lothar can’t hold it in anymore. He snorts, a grin forming on his lips. Khadgar stares at him like he doesn’t know how to react. That just makes Lothar laugh. He grabs Khadgar by the shoulder again, turns him around, and gives him a shove towards the door. “Get some sleep, spell-chucker.”

He’s rewarded by Khadgar’s own bashful little grin, before the mage disappears around the corner.

With a sigh, Lothar turns back to his table, the stack of papers still untouched. He runs a hand over his face and braces himself on the desk. It’s going to be a long month.

* * *

 

Lothar is _not_ jealous. He is a full-grown man in charge of the fate of a kingdom and possibly the world. He is _not_ taking out his frustrations on fresh recruits as the days draw closer to Khadgar’s next heat.

More gifts and tokens have arrived on the heels of the first. Despite telling him that he can reject any of the gifts without giving offense, Khadgar would regularly visit Lothar in his office, asking about this gift or that. Lothar starts having food and drink sent up, if only because he suspects Khadgar forgets to eat, buried in books and spellcasting like he is all the time.

_(“Now that’s just crass.” Lothar can’t stop the laughter bubbling out of his lips at the little figurine in Khadgar’s hand. The ceramic wolf is portrayed midhowl, large and bristling with fangs peeking out of its lips. “The attempt at mystery is useless. They’re pretty much telling you to fuck them because they’re an Alpha.”)_

_(“You’re not supposed to send food because it pressures the Omega to accept for exactly that reason,” Lothar says drily at Khadgar’s panic over wasted fruit. “If you don’t want the food, leave it for the servants. If you want the food, you can always eat it and reject the Alpha later.”)_

The visits grow longer. Some nights the topic of their conversation wanders, with Lothar sharing tales of his younger days with Medivh and Llane and Khadgar sharing memories of life with the Kirin Tor. Always, Lothar would keep his temper and instincts under control. He would answer every question Khadgar had, and take it out on the training fields the next day. And if Khadgar’s gaze is heavier than usual… well, Lothar just ignores it.

It ends up becoming a good way to end a stressful day. And Lothar’s days _are_ stressful. On top of overseeing the rebuilding of the army, tracking the orcs’ movement, and negotiating with the other kingdoms of Azeroth, he finds himself thinking of Khadgar every moment he has to spare. What gifts has he received today? Has he eaten yet? Which lucky Alpha would he choose to be his partner?

_(Lothar gives up on trying to say anything and just breaks into teary-eyed laughter at the life-sized rendition of Grand Hamlet’s Duke Harlington in bronze.)_

Khadgar’s sigh draws Lothar out of his thoughts. He looks up from a report on the new forts being built and raises an eyebrow at the mage currently lounging in his spare chair. Khadgar wrinkles his nose at him, but blessedly stops tossing his new crystal ball around. The refracted light from the fire is giving Lothar a headache.

Lothar puts a hand on the back of his neck and rolls the joint, hearing a satisfying crack. He turns his gaze back to Khadgar, resting his arms on the desk. “Nervous?” he asks.

It’s two nights before Khadgar’s next heat.

Khadgar sighs again, an explosive huff that sends him slouching further in his seat. “Maybe,” he admits. “I mean, I sort of know what to expect now, but at the same time-” He waves a hand in the air.

“-you don’t,” Lothar finishes for him. Two more baby heats before Khadgar’s heats would settle anywhere near regularity.

“Yes.” He rests his hand on the ball again. A mere bauble that had made Khadgar snort, because it would suit a fortune teller far better than it would a mage. It’s made of pure crystal though, which shows the sender knows how to show off riches without bringing out the gaudy gold. “The gifts aren’t helping any.”

“I keep telling you, you don’t have to pick one if you don’t have to,” Lothar says, letting the exasperation bleed into his voice. Khadgar doesn’t rise to the challenge. His eyes remain fixed on the crystal ball.

Lothar drums his fingers on the table, then stops. He braces himself for the question he knows is coming.

“What if… I choose an Alpha?” Khadgar says. Lothar had tried to prepare himself, but still his chest constricts at the thought.

“Then you send them a token of your own that clearly states your identity – like, say, your cloak pin.” Lothar nods at Khadgar’s shoulder, where the pin would be if he was wearing his cloak. “Do it when you start showing signs of your heat starting, or a day before you expect it. If the Alpha is worth their title, they’ll go to you as soon as they can.”

Khadgar’s eyes flicker to him then away. He runs his thumb across his bottom lip, his tongue following afterwards. Lothar has to close his eyes before he does something embarrassing. Like whimper.

“What if… what if there’s an Alpha I want? And h- and they’re not one of those courting me?” Khadgar says in a rush.

Lothar’s heart starts beating again – at twice its usual pace. Keeping his voice carefully neutral, he replies. “It’s the same as choosing one of your suitors. You send your token to them, signifying you’re requesting their company. It’s an honor to be chosen, so few, if ever, say no. Consider it a favor with no strings attached.”

He meant to sound encouraging. If there’s an Alpha Khadgar wants, he shouldn’t be afraid to ask them. But Khadgar’s face just closes off. “I see,” is all he says.

Lothar picks up his pen and flips it over his fingers, trying to ignore the feeling that he had just missed something important. Like a window of opportunity had just appeared before him, and he had chosen to throw a rock through it and break the glass instead.

Oh who is he kidding? All this pining is getting to his head.

And he did _not_ just think the word pining. Nope.

“You should get some sleep,” he says abruptly, startling Khadgar out of his brooding. “I won’t be finished for a while yet. And you need to be well-rested for your heat.” Never mind that they’ve stayed up later than this, just talking to each other.

“It’ll just be three days,” Khadgar grumbles, but gets up without further protest. In fact, he almost seems to be relieved at the easy out Lothar gives him. “Good night, Lothar.”

“Good night.” The door clicks shut behind him.

Lothar tries to shake off the unsettled feeling in his chest. His intuition would not stop nagging at him. At least Alpha instincts are easier to discern. Restless, he turns back to his papers.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up at my [main](http://arcane-renegade.tumblr.com) and my [writing blog](http://fleeting-white-feathers.tumblr.com). I'm very friendly, I swear!


End file.
